Dear memories,

I regret to inform you
time will malform you
as you are retroactively reshaped
to deal with your limited
understanding of today.

Dear compassion,

I am saddened to say
this will not be
the end of your pain.
As you see more and come to learn
the world may still turn
but you will burn
in agony.

Dear heart,

It is my duty to tell you
that despite the breaks
that have found you
there will be more to come,
unless you decide
it is time to run.

Dear dreams,

You have been recruited.
Your hopeful nature
will never be disputed.
We must now work together
and find a way to
challenge each other.

Dear me,

I am glad that you
are not yet
a casualty
of the callousness
of our society and I hope
we shall overcome
the horrors yet to come.

She lived along the Atlantic coast
and had a collection of lobster pots
by the porch
and her lawn was trimmed for croquet
smelled of clams at low tide
the house was set near barnacle rocks
just beyond a stand of trees.

I found her by looking in a phonebook
next to her name it said, "Poetry Journals,"
so I called the number, and said I was on my way.
"Is that ok?" I added hesitantly.

“Well, yes,” she laughed, “You can come buy one.”
I passed the sign for fresh eggs
and arrived at a black wrought iron gate that said,
"Poetry Journals - 2 for $5.00."

“You’re the first one
who’s ever made it all the way to the house for a journal…”
“In four dozen years,"
she said.
Then she asked,
“What’s your name?”

“I don’t really have a name," I said.
She nodded and understood.
She'd heard from Byron
that the Banshee drags souls out to sea
but sometimes the nameless
manage to float back looking for poetry
these lost ones are like driftwood
bringing a sense of chilly dusk
a retrospective on the sea
in a seashell
appearing by happenstance
at low tide
"yes, I hear a distant mumble of waves,"
she might have said of me
I was one of the lost
turning her porch into a quay of despair
the first one in almost 50 years
who had made it so far
to latch on
until high tide
when the rush of sea returned
washed me out again clinging for dear life
to a raft of poetry

Scientifically, we are made up of a combination of atoms that somehow resulted in spinning minds and thirsty hearts, soft skin and aching bones.

I heard somewhere that if the atoms of an object could spread far enough apart, we could pass through anything.

If we are merely atoms, I suppose I spread mine so far that you passed through me.

You came through me, you hit my bloodstream and God was it a rush.

My atoms reacted with yours and it felt like they started to merge into one.

I felt you become a part of my spinning mind, my thirsty heart, my soft skin and my aching bones.

I spread myself so far so that you could really see who I was and before I knew it you had passed through me.

My atoms are tinged with specks of yours and I can't get you out of what makes up who I am.

This is why I miss you with all that I have.

I love you
Your gentle touch
Your nervous giggle
You caring smile

I love you
But I'm not in love

My hand clenches around my heart
Constricting its beating
Forcing it to step in time to the wrong dance

I'm slicing m own soul apart with this quandary
But the knife is so sharp I hardly notice it
I only think of your face
What you will do when I tell you

I love you
But I'm not in love

The hurt pouring from your eyes
Like blood from a wound
Not windows, but floodgates to the soul unable to close

As your eyes furrow
And mouth turns, open in surprise
Glasses a shield for me
Or you, I can't tell

I love you
But I'm not in love

Nay but you, who do not love her,
  Is she not pure gold, my mistress?
Holds earth aught—speak truth—above her?
  Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,
And this last fairest tress of all,
So fair, see, ere I let it fall?
Because, you spend your lives in praising;
  To praise, you search the wide world over:
Then why not witness, calmly gazing,
  If earth holds aught—speak truth—above her?
Above this tress, and this, I touch
But cannot praise, I love so much!

sometimes when i sit in my room
drowning in a river of tears
that fall for so many reasons that
i cannot think of just one
i wish you would come in
i wish you would knock on my door
and ask me if i’m okay
because then i could let it all out
i could lean my head on your shoulder
and soak it completely while you
rub my back and let me cry
no judgements
no questions
you would just sit there and hold me
and tell me everything will work out
somehow
something as simple as this can
make me feel a whole lot better
because that is the kind of connection
you have with me
one that is simple
and one that is strong